


Prologues

by club52



Series: Run [1]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Angst, Backstory, Before, Broken Family, Brotherhood, Cheating, Child Abuse, Friendship, Gen, HYYH era, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infidelity, Literary References & Allusions, No Romance, Non-Graphic Violence, Novel, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Poverty, Present Tense, Prologue, References to Christianity, References to Depression, References to Drugs, References to Religion, Runaways AU, Serious, To Be Continued, Verbal Abuse, bangtan boys - Freeform, bts - Freeform, could be controversial, fanatic christianity, if i missed any warnings tell me, jopok, kind of deep to be honest, literary, long journey, referenced child death, runaways - Freeform, there will be plenty of angst in the future trust me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-16 16:51:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11832942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/club52/pseuds/club52
Summary: This is the first prologue of a very long bangtan story that I've had in my head for a while now; If this thing works out the way I want it to it will be a full-on novel. Like, this story is going to be a journey, guys. It's close to my heart, and I like to think that it's going to be close to other people's hearts one day too.Each member will have their own prologue chapter and from then on, it will be told from alternating points of view. I'm very excited about this story myself, so I hope you enjoy it. There is a lot more to come in the future.





	1. Prologue: Vice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first prologue of a very long bangtan story that I've had in my head for a while now; If this thing works out the way I want it to it will be a full-on novel. Like, this story is going to be a journey, guys. It's close to my heart, and I like to think that it's going to be close to other people's hearts one day too. 
> 
> Each member will have their own prologue chapter and from then on, it will be told from alternating points of view. I'm very excited about this story myself, so I hope you enjoy it. There is a lot more to come in the future.

 

 

_“It's only in drugs or death we'll see anything new, and death is just too controlling.”_

—  Chuck Palahniuk ,  Survivor

 

**TAEHYUNG**

_hey is this tae?_

It’s already two in the morning when the message arrives, and the low hum of the vibrating phone sounds out of place in the quiet room. Two in the morning is supposed to be silent in an apartment building; For the past week it has been too easy to imagine that everyone else is either asleep or dead at night. Taehyung lays wide awake, staring at the rot that crawls across the popcorn ceiling and feeling strange because the rest of the world isn’t supposed to exist again for a few more hours.

_yeah its tae. who is this?_

_my friend cj gave me your #. he said you have some stuff to sell._

Taehyung sits up on the couch and stretches his arms, trying to blink away the blinding light coming from his phone screen. Damn, it’s _dark_ in here. It’s not the kind of dark where the glowing storefronts light the sidewalks or where there’s a light on in the next room and people moving around like he’s used to. It’s just dark.

_i might. what are you looking for?_

_oxy 80s? percs?_

_need them tonight?_

_yeah_

He puts his phone down on the table and hoists himself up off the couch, trying as hard as he can to be quiet. He can still hear his mother’s soft snoring from the couch on the other side of the room, and he doesn’t want to wake her up now that she’s finally getting a full night of sleep. He feels around with his bare feet on the ground until he runs across his shoes and he sits down to pull them on and tie the laces.

_i have both. meet me outside the 7 eleven on 4th at 3:30?_

_ok_

He pats the back of the couch until he feels his sweatshirt and he pulls it on over his head. This apartment isn’t air conditioned and he’s too hot now, but he doesn’t have a choice but to wear it. Will it look suspicious and single him out on such a warm night in July? Maybe, but showing off the little bruises peppered across the inside of his arm would be stupid.

Track marks are worse.

Slinging his backpack onto one of his shoulders, he picks up his phone and tiptoes toward the door with a mental list of reminders running through his head like a tape he’s already worn out on countless other nights like this one.

_i’ll have a bike & backpack. wearing a red sweatshirt._

He almost hits send before he remembers to add the most important line. He can still hear it in his mother’s voice.

_bring the money tonight or there’s no deal._

He can only hope that the sound of the door closing behind him is quiet enough to let his mother get some rest. Heaven knows she needs it.


	2. Prologue: Prozac

_“When we don't know who to hate, we hate ourselves.”_

― Chuck Palahniuk,Invisible Monsters

 

**SEOKJIN**

One little pill.

Jin sits on the edge of his bed in a daze, a full medicine bottle in his hand. It’s getting dark already and he doesn’t know where the day has gone; He only knows he hasn’t accomplished anything yet and that he hates himself for it. The list of things he should be working on is weighing him down but he reads the label on the bottle for a twelfth time anyway, his eyes moving in and out of focus the longer he stares.

_FOR: SEOKJIN, KIM_

_PROZAC 40 MG CAPSULES_

_INSTRUCTIONS: TAKE ONE CAPSULE BY MOUTH ONCE DAILY_

_QTY: 30_

One little pill. That’s what’s supposed to fix all this. The apparent key to happiness: one little pill. From a medical standpoint, it makes sense. Serotonin regulation means a more stable mood. There have been studies on it for years and patients have been treated this way for just as long.

Jin lays back down and closes his eyes, the bottle leaving his hand and falling to the ground. Two months have gone by and he has started to wonder if he’s taking them wrong. Eight weeks, and he isn’t sure he believes it at all. It’s too good to be true. 

He lays in one spot and does nothing but breathe. He stays there with his limbs limp and his eyelids down, pretending he doesn’t have a million things to do before the end of this week. He doesn’t know if it has been ten minutes or two hours when he hears the front door open and a cautious voice saying, “Jin?”

He doesn’t even bother sitting up. “Hey. How was work?”

Jiyeon sighs and the sound is too familiar for comfort. “It was work.” He can feel the weight on the bed shift as she sits down next to him. “Oh my god, do you remember that girl, Minsoo, though? The one from school who always used to bleach her hair and dye it weird colors?”

Jin doesn’t answer. He just breathes and listens to the heavy thud his girlfriend’s high heels make as they fall to the floor one by one.

“She’s got this new boyfriend, right?” She stands up and he listens to the gentle patter of her fading footsteps as she walks to the bathroom. “I met him today and he’s really nice. He’s an anesthesiologist.”

Anesthesiologist. He has lost track of how many times he has heard that word come from Jiyeon's mouth. _Anesthesiologist._ He doesn’t get the hint because he doesn’t want to. "Nice," he mutters with a barely opened mouth.

"Well, yeah," He listens as her voice moves around the apartment with her, pretending that the world is nothing more than the backs of his eyelids. “You should see the house they’re moving into. It’s massive.”

“Hm. Sounds nice.”

Jiyeon’s footsteps stop in the kitchen entranceway and Jin can feel her eyes boring into him. He doesn’t meet her gaze; He stares at the ceiling. He can still feel the word, _anesthesiologist_ , hanging in the air and it starts to choke him like cigarette smoke.

“You think we’ll ever live in a house like that, Jin?”

Self-hatred feels like a fist around his heart every time.


	3. Prologue: Abraxas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: This story is completely fictional and it in no way reflects my ideas about the real lives of these people. The characters are just that: characters. 
> 
> As you may be able to tell, I am kind of terrified to post this. I really can't change it because this is the way the story goes and the way that his character has to be but I am well aware that this could be controversial and hard to read for a lot of people. The point of all this is not to offend or bother anyone but to tell a story that I've had in my head that means a lot to me. Just remember to approach with caution and that I do not mean any harm by tackling such sensitive topics.

“ _Jesus watches from the wall_

_But his face is cold as stone_

_And if he loves me_

_As she tells me_

_Why do I feel so all alone?_ ”

—Stephen King ,  Carrie

 

**HOSEOK**

Hoseok is an angel.

He sits and shivers in the dark on his bedroom floor across from a broken mirror. The flame of his candle flutters as a breeze passes through and he watches the shadows of his face dance in the fragmented reflection. The shift in the light causes an illusion.

Hoseok is a demon.

Today has been one of the bad days. He can still feel the crisscross welts from a homemade whip raw on his back like fire trying to escape from the inside. His mother is asleep. Thank _God_ his mother is asleep.

Another breeze passes through and the flame sways.

Hoseok is God.

He touches his face to make sure it’s real and the feeling of fingers on his skin reminds him of the sting of being struck by an open hand; It reminds him of a seething whisper. It reminds him of _her_ voice when he knows she’s had enough.

_“He that spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves his son is careful to discipline him.”_

Hoseok is The Beast.

He closes his eyes in exhaustion and his image won’t leave him alone. His face is burned into the backs of his eyelids and it’s burned into his soul. It looks just like he has always imagined when he remembers he’s a curse brought about by his mother’s old sin. Everything is there but the horns.

Hoseok is evil incarnate.

The world feels heavier because the burden of himself sits on his shoulders. It’s always there, but he forgets. How does he forget? As soon as he opens his eyes they start to spill over. He squeezes them shut again in frustration; He cries every time. Why does he cry every damn time? He wipes them away with his sleeve but it doesn’t matter if his face is dry because he can feel himself starting to breathe too fast and that feels worse than anything. _Inhale, exhale._ It hurts.

His chest is in pain. He deserves it. His throat feels like fire. He deserves it. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. _He deserves it._

Hoseok has a history; He has experience with staring at razor blades and having too many thoughts about what they could do for him if he ever needed to escape. He has experience with making plans with thirteen story buildings and losing his nerve before he pushes the elevator button.

His head a jumbled mess, he reaches his trembling hand under the edge of his bed in a search for something he knows can fix this. He pats around and he knows he’s found what he’s looking for when he touches something and hears a rattle. He snatches it up and holds it to his chest to steady his hand because he’s shaking and it makes too much noise to be a secret.

It’s a bottle of lithium; He knows this even through a blurry filter of tears. They’re meant for his mother, but she wouldn’t have taken them if someone had held her down. They’re supposed to make her calm, but she doesn’t take them and God knows they could help Hoseok right now.

_God doesn’t care._

Hoseok turns the bottle around and around in his hand, as if there should be instructions for people without hope. _How many does it take?_ He already knows. He has read about this too many times to count. It takes the whole bottle _._

Eyes squeezed shut and knees pulled as close to his chest as he can get them, Hoseok opens the bottle with numbing fingers and looks inside. The tablets look like strawberry candy, but his heart hurts when he looks at them. He turns the bottle over and the pills spill out into his palm in a cotton candy waterfall. He rocks back and forth and stares at his hand, hesitating. It doesn’t matter if an overdose will hurt, because he knows that Hell _will_.

Mind racing, he stands up to tiptoe to the kitchen. A glass of water—he needs a glass of water to swallow everything. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that discomfort won’t matter in an hour or so. He just wants a glass of water for now. His knees wobble and he drops four tablets as he stands. It doesn’t matter. He just wants water.

When his hand wraps around the doorknob to his bedroom, he hears a sound that makes him stop. _Ding._ He looks behind him on the ground next to his broken mirror and the screen of his phone lights up as he hears the sound one more time. _Ding._ He has a text message.

Hoseok walks back to his original spot on the ground and drops to his knees, more of the lithium falling from his left hand as he picks up his phone with his right. He opens the message and he sees that it’s from Jimin. He isn’t sure why, but he almost feels like he’s floating.

_hey man. i was thinking about you and i just wondered if you are still planning on coming to hang out with everybody at namjoon’s tomorrow again. let me know. love ya dude._

Hoseok let the rest of the tablets fall from his hand as he types his response, feeling like a survivor who has been given a raft to last a couple more days.

_I’ll see you tomorrow._


	4. Prologue: Shatter

_“When a child first catches adults out -- when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not always have divine intelligence, that their judgments are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just -- his world falls into panic and desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child's world is never quite whole again. It is an aching kind of growing.”_

― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

 

**NAMJOON**

_November 12, 2004._  
****

Namjoon is walking home.

Today a good day; Friday is his favorite day of the week and he can’t stop smiling. He’s got his favorite backpack—the green one with the blue straps. He’s got prize bubblegum in the pockets of his uniform for being a good student— _“One of the brightest,”_ his teacher had said. _“One of the best.”_ He can’t forget that.

On every report card day since first grade, Namjoon has celebrated. He always rushes home with a walk that’s closer to running. His parents always hug him too much. His father always gives him ten dollars. He always smiles until his dimples hurt.

He turns the corner to his street as he turns his folded report in his hands over and over again like it can help him walk faster. His heart does little flips when he sees his father’s car parked in the driveway. When he gets to the front door, he throws it open. Report card in hand, he rushes through the living room toward the kitchen like lightning.

“Dad!”

His father looks up from the newspaper in his hands and Namjoon can’t stop smiling. He beams until he thinks his facial muscles will fail. “I got my report card today.” His hands shake in anticipation as he holds the paper out to his father.

His dad unfolds the paper and smiles. Namjoon feels like he can fly. “Son, I can’t say that I’m surprised but I am so proud of you.”

He feels himself filling to the brim with joy. He can do anything. His hero is proud.

 

_November 12, 2008._

Namjoon is in the living room.

Today is a rainy day; The clouds outside make the world gray and he’s been sitting inside reading Emerson for two hours. The house is quiet enough to hear the raindrops on the roof because he’s the only one here—his mother has taken his little sister out to eat and his father must be working late again.

He is alone. This is the fourth day in a row. Not that it matters; No one talks anyway.

In two more hours, the sound of a car door tells him that someone is finally home. He glances toward the window and his father is walking up the sidewalk, briefcase in hand. He stays seated but inside he’s already thinking of what to say that might get his father’s attention. He misses the conversations.

When his father walks through the door, Namjoon looks up from his book and opens his mouth to greet him before he notices things that make his words get stuck in his throat.

It’s not that his father’s smile alone is something to be questioned, or that him talking on a cellphone in a whisper is automatically suspicious. It’s not even the way that his father closes the door like it’s made of glass. There’s not any one thing that should make him feel like choking, but the combination of these makes alarms go off in his head. He can’t help but think that he’s seeing something he’s not meant to see.

He watches from the far corner of the room as his father takes off his coat with his back turned. “I have to go. I’m home.” His dad laughs and it’s not in the same voice he’s used to. Something is wrong. His head feels numb.

His father lays his briefcase on the ground next to his feet and continues his conversation without ever turning around. “What? No, of course not. And please don’t call me on that number anymore, hun. It comes up on the bill and my wife has access to that. Okay? Alright. See you tomorrow night.” _Something is definitely wrong._

When he watches his father turn off the phone and hide it in his briefcase, he has already started to understand. He watches his father take a different phone out of his pocket and call his mother, using the same old voice he always has like putting on sheep’s clothing. When he goes on about how much work he still has to get done at the office, and how he thinks he’s going to have to go in tomorrow to finish it all up, he knows he’s right.

Namjoon doesn’t know what to do, so he gets up and walks to his room. His heart feels like a hole in his chest. The air is unfamiliar. His world is shattered.

He shuts his door behind him and stands in the middle of the floor with a numb mind.

His hero is dead.

 

_November 12, 2014._

Namjoon is sitting next to his mother.

Today is a hard day; One of the hardest they’ve had in a while. She’s refusing food again—He cut the crusts off of the sandwich in his hand like he would for a child because he doesn’t always know what else to do. He can’t give her what she wants.

She won’t eat until she can see her daughter. He can’t make himself remind her broken heart again that her baby is gone.

She won’t take her medicine until she can see his father. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that her husband is out pretending to work late.

He sits on the bed and watches her cry without a word to say. He wishes he could be her hero at that moment, but he knows better.

Heroes don’t exist.


	5. Prologue: Reckless

“ _All I want to be is very young always and very irresponsible and to feel that my life is my own-to live and be happy and die in my own way to please myself._ ”

― Zelda Fitzgerald

 

**JUNGKOOK**

“Jeon Jungkook!”  
****

As soon as the officer shuts the door behind him, his parents start with their shit. They always use his full name, like that’s supposed to scare him into submission or something. He snorts. That might have worked when he was four.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

Jungkook bites his lip and stares at the ground, suppressing a smile. _Trying to have a good time, that’s what._ The room spins a little and he finds himself leaning against the front door so he doesn’t sway.

“Do you realize what time it is?”

“No.” He can’t help but smirk. He feels himself coming dangerously close to laughing every time he opens his mouth. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“‘ _Wasn’t paying attention?’_ Well, pay attention, Jungkook! It’s two in the morning! Dear god!” His mother’s voice registers in his mind at too slow of a pace and he thinks that maybe he drank a little more than he meant to. Oops. His father gives him a stern look and he realizes he’s smiling again. Oops.

He averts his eyes. “Sorry.”

“‘ _Sorry?’_ That’s it?”

He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of _yeah, that’s all i’ve got,_ but before he gets a chance his grandmother chimes in. She sits in her recliner in the corner of the room, her face as calm as ever. She doesn’t even look up from the shirt she’s sewing a patch onto.

“Oh, he’s a boy. He’s young. Don’t be so hard on him.”

“Mom!” His mother sounds like she’s on the brink of explosion, like she always does when someone disagrees. Jungkook bites his lip harder to keep in his giggles. “Listen to yourself! He’s seventeen! He can’t be out there drinking and partying and—and doing God knows what else just because he’s a boy and young and stupid!”

“You act like he killed somebody! Look at him! He’s fine.”

Jungkook glances at his mother and father when he becomes aware of their eyes on him; They’re all stern faces and crossed arms, the same faces he remembers from when he was a little kid. When he looks at his grandma, she only winks.

“He’s fine _this time._ ” His mother puts a hand to her forehead. “If he keeps hanging around that one boy…”

 _Jesus Christ._ He rolls his eyes. _The Taehyung speech again._ If they only knew tonight hadn’t even been Taehyung’s idea. If that were the case it would have been weed instead of the only cheap, crappy beer he could afford with his minimum wage waiter salary.

“They’re teenage boys! They’re all like that! Don’t tell me they weren’t all like that when you were in school.”

“No, mom, they weren’t like this!” His mother points a finger in his direction and raises her voice. “None of the boys I knew were like this! They didn’t come home at two and three in the morning and show up with—with tattoos out of nowhere and—“

“Oh, he has _one_ tattoo, honey.” Jungkook ran his finger over the stick-and-poke whale on his left pinky finger as he listened to his grandmother coming to his rescue. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s cute.”

“ _Cute?”_ She was yelling now. _“It’s not cute!_ It’s permanent! And what about the drinking? Is that _cute_ too? Where did you even get alcohol?”

Jungkook stares at the ground in silence. The truth is that Taehyung sells oxycontin to the guy at the liquor store and they have an agreement: _You sell me drugs and I’ll sell you alcohol without asking your age._ But he doesn’t want to tell the truth so instead he stutters, “I-I—They didn’t ask me for an I.D.”

“Oh, bull _shit_ Jungkook. It’s that Taehyung kid and you know it. I don’t know what to do with you.” His mother holds her fingers to her temples and his father wraps his arm around her for support.

“I’m disappointed,” his father simply states. “You’re a smart young man, son. You know we expect better but lately we never know what you’re going to do. Some things are going to have to change.”

Jungkook is barely paying attention. He already knows what his father is going to say. He stares off into space and runs his thumb over the wheel of the lighter in his pocket, his parent’s voices fading into the background with the rest of the world.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” his father says, pulling his mother closer into a hug like some kind of tragedy has stricken the family. “Go to bed.”

 _Fucking finally._ Jungkook nods and makes a crooked beeline for the staircase, his head swimming like he’s underwater. He’s been ready for bed since he sat down in the back seat of that police officer’s car.

“Son?”

He turns around at the foot of the steps. “Hm?”

“Goodnight.”

“Night, Dad.”

“Love you, baby,” his mom adds.

“Love you too.”

When Jungkook makes it to his room, he collapses on top of the comforter in his clothes. His bed has never felt so good in his entire life.

_So much for having a good time._

**Author's Note:**

> :::DISCLAIMER::: 
> 
> As this is a real person fic, I feel the need to say that the characters' backstories should NOT be taken seriously. My characters should be seen as nothing more than that: characters with their own backstories separate from the real members of BTS. Though this is not even close to the same story or set in the same universe, I was mostly inspired by the characters that the members portray in HYYH. Essentially, those characters are who i'm writing about rather than the real life members of BTS themselves. I am in no place to say anything about their real private lives or their families/relationships so please don't take any of this that way. Thank you!!


End file.
